For Gondor
by Eryndil
Summary: A series of vignettes and short stories on the subject of duty, mainly featuring Denethor and Faramir with supporting appearances by other characters . First two chapters posted.
1. A Lesson Learnt

A/N: A series of vignettes (and the occasional short story) on the subject of duty, featuring Denethor and Faramir with appearances by Ecthelion, Aragorn, Finduilas, Boromir, Gandalf, Éowyn and Elboron. I am not a quick writer so this may not be updated very often but there will eventually be 10 chapters.

Title: For Gondor

Context: Book-verse, Gondor, 3rd Age pre, during and post-LOTR

Spoilers/Warnings: Spoilers for LOTR

Disclaimer: All characters, settings and other elements created by JRR Tolkien are the property of the Tolkien Estate. No copyright infringement is intended and I do not profit in any way from the creation of this story.

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A Lesson Learnt

It had been a long and difficult meeting and the Steward of Gondor was glad of the chance for some peace and quiet in his private chambers. Seating himself by the fire, he closed his eyes, breathed a heavy sigh and tried to clear his mind. However, the ill news that had been brought to him that day weighed on his thoughts and he was unable to relax.

After a few minutes of gloomy contemplation, he became aware that he was being watched. Opening his eyes again, he saw his five year old son standing in the doorway, evidently unsure whether he should disturb his father. The boy had an expression of concern that was far too old for his years. The Steward shook himself from his melancholy and smiled at the child.

"Come in, Denethor," he said encouragingly, "sit here with me."

The boy came and settled on the floor by his father's feet, looking up into the man's face with a worried frown.

"What is the matter, father?" he enquired in a solemn voice.

For a moment, Ecthelion considered dismissing his son's concerns and affecting that nothing was wrong, but he quickly decided against that course of action. For one thing, his son was already far too perceptive to be taken in easily. Moreover, the Steward was mindful that Denethor would one day take his place and would have to shoulder the burdens that he now bore. It was best that the child should hear the truth from the start so that he could begin to prepare himself for the heavy duty that would fall upon him.

"We have received some bad news, my son," he explained as simply as he could. "Many of the soldiers who were fighting against the Enemy have been lost."

Denethor bit on his lip as he thought through what his father had said. "Where were they lost?" he asked seriously. "Can they not be found?"

"No, my child, I mean that they have been killed by the Enemy. It saddens me because I sent them into battle and now they shall never return."

The boy pondered this for a while. He did not like to see his father so troubled and he wondered what he could do to make things better. While he was trying to think of a solution, the Steward spoke again, quietly as if to himself.

"And because I shall have to send many more who will also lose their lives."

"Must you send them, Father?" Denethor questioned him. "If the soldiers did not have to go and fight, perhaps you would not be sad any more."

Ecthelion smiled in spite of his bleak mood but he spoke soberly. "They must go to battle, my son. They are men of Gondor and it is their duty to protect our beloved country against the evil of the Enemy…as it is my duty to send them, even to their deaths."

He looked at the child with sympathy in his eyes. "And there will come a time when you are Steward and you will have to do as I do now."

Denethor stared back at him in confusion and some alarm. "But how could I be Steward?" he exclaimed. "_You_ are the Steward."

"That position will be yours one day, when you are grown and I have passed out of this world. But that will not be for a long time, Valar willing."

His son sat in silence for several minutes, thinking this over in a pensive fashion far more suited to an adult than a five year old child. Finally, he looked up at his father again and spoke with great solemnity. "I hope that it will be a very long time before I am Steward but, when I am, I will try my best to be as good as you are."

Ecthelion leaned forward and put his hands on the boy's shoulders. "I am sure that you will," he assured the child with a gentle smile. Then his expression became sombre once more. He took a deep breath and released it in a weary sigh before speaking again. "Always remember this, my son," he urged in a quiet but authoritative voice, "the duty we owe to Gondor must come above all else."

Denethor held his gaze and his grey eyes shone with sincerity. "I will not forget that, father," he replied. "I promise."


	2. A Bitter Pill

A/N: This chapter is a bit more introspective than the first and has no actual dialogue! As the LOTR appendices do not give very specific dates about the happenings in Gondor during the time of Ecthelion II, I have been rather vague about Denethor's age here.

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A Bitter Pill

The victory had been hard won, but at last the men of Gondor had routed the force of orcs that was threatening Cair Andros and now they were taking their rest upon the field of battle. They all knew that this was but one skirmish amongst many, with worse to come, but they would celebrate this temporary reprieve while they could.

Denethor was seated on a low wall, nursing an injured shoulder and reflecting on the achievements of the men under his command. He was very satisfied with the day's events and felt sure that his father would be pleased. Now in his mid thirties, he had been a Captain of Gondor for over a decade and had proved himself worthy of the position, but there was still a nagging doubt in his mind.

Certainly, the physical side of combat did not come as naturally to him as it did to many others and, although his strategic skills were excellent, it had taken him a long time to win the true respect of his men. At last they had come to appreciate his determination, his perception and his strong sense of responsibility towards those who followed him into battle. He was proud that he had lost very few of his company today and was looking forward to making his report to the Steward.

Looking up, he saw a group of men slowly traversing the field, stopping often to speak to the soldiers who rested there. At this distance, he could not recognise the people in the group, but from the attitudes of the men around them, it was obvious who the new arrivals were: Ecthelion, Lord Steward of Gondor, and his councillors, come to congratulate the troops on their victory and to consult with the Captains.

Denethor stood cautiously, taking care not to start his wound bleeding again. He knew that his father would want to hear his views on the battle and perhaps also to reassure himself that his son's injury was not grievous. Bruised and battered from the fighting, he found walking to be quite painful but he gritted his teeth and laboriously made his way towards the burnt remains of what had once been a majestic lebethron tree. There, Ecthelion had paused once more to exchange a few words with a small band of Rangers, before continuing his progress across the battle field.

Word of the Steward's arrival had spread and gradually he became surrounded by weary but jubilant soldiers, keen to welcome their lord to the field of victory. By chance, he and his councillors were walking directly towards Denethor and, as they came closer, the young man could see Ecthelion smiling proudly at those around him. He hurried on, wincing from the pain, but eager to make his account and win his father's approval.

The Steward was looking from side to side, searching through the assembled men for faces that he recognised and for a moment their eyes seemed to meet. Denethor drew himself up to his full height and smiled back at his father, but Ecthelion's gaze moved on without noticing his son. Then his head lifted sharply as if he had heard someone call his name and he turned aside, his steps quickening as he strode through the crowd, away from where Denethor awaited him.

The young Captain stopped in his tracks and his face revealed the disappointment he felt but, when he saw the man who was hastening to meet his father, his expression shifted to one of resentment. Thorongil! That stranger from nobody knew where, who had come to Minas Tirith and schemed his way into the Steward's regard, becoming his trusted advisor and Gondor's most beloved Captain. Denethor watched with indignation as Ecthelion threw his arms around the outlander as if they were closest kin.

_Ever he seeks to supplant me in my father's esteem_, he thought bitterly.

Denethor had pledged his life to the service of Gondor, fought for her, bled for her, yet he was slighted in favour of a man who was not even born within her borders.

_No matter what sacrifices I make, what deeds I perform, I am always second best in the eyes of my father…yes, and of our people too._

And when he became Steward, what then? Would he remain in Thorongil's shadow, always struggling against his rival?

_No, _he answered himself,_ I cannot allow that to happen. Gondor needs a strong leader to see her safely through the dark times ahead. My counsel alone must prevail or this country will become divided and weak. I shall not let her fall to the Enemy!_

As he made this vow, the stark determination shone in his grey eyes and his fingers clenched on the pommel of his sword as if the servants of the Dark Lord stood before him. Long seconds passed before his mind returned to the present and his hand dropped back to his side. Then he chided himself; he was a Captain of Gondor and it did not befit him to stand about contemplating an unknown future when he should be making his report to his Lord.

_My duty is to Gondor above all else_, he recited silently, _and the Steward __**is**__ Gondor. If he chooses to value an outlander higher than his own son, it is not for me to question his judgement or challenge his authority. I will keep my thoughts to myself, follow my orders and give what is required of me – respect, loyalty, obedience, even my life if it is needed._

With grim resignation, he turned and went to find his father.


End file.
